Woman out of time: Songs of Yesterday
by AppleglassesMusings
Summary: Set before the great war, Evelyn works for the Boston military police (CID). What seems like a simple case of arson at a local base leads her to finding too many inconsistencies around the guilty man and a conspiracy that leads her to Mariposa. Can she solve the case against those who would rather see her fail or will the looming war end it all before the truth can be found.
1. The fire

Jake Timpey huddled himself under one of the tables that lined the corridor, thick black smoke blinding the exits, heat burning his every breath and invading his very being. The pipes were ringing with pressure, walls blistering in the heat and over it all the wailing serein of a fire alarm, calling out into the empty night.

Funny how this afternoon he had planned to spend the evening in. Just the same bland evening where he would sit back a watch whatever rubbish the media cared to push out, distracting the nation from the coming conflict. Sitcoms that weren't that funny, romantic flicks that had no reflection on true relationships or an action film with impossible stunts. All finished with smiles and happy endings. All to serve as a reminder that life was good and that one shouldn't complain. But never the news, never anything real. Funny how his quite evening had turned into him being at work, while the building burnt down around him.

He almost found himself laughing at the ridiculousness of his situation. It was his own unfunny comedy.

The blaze was consuming the walls around him, though had not yet made it into the corridor he had hid in. The rising heat making his skin itch. He had tried to open the door at the end of the corridor, but the security circuits had probably been fried in the blaze, and the door remained locked. He had tried to hack it open, but even then it remained as good as the walls around him. He tried to turn back, leave via the door he had come in, but the room was now an inferno. He had scrambled into one of the side rooms hoping that there might be a window, but it was of course it was one of the internal rooms where the only light was artificial. He had banged at the doors, shouted for help, but who was going to be on the Fort Devens base at 2am?

And so Jake found himself curling up under one of the tables, resigned to his fate. Head tucked into this knees and in the safety of solitude, he allowed himself to cry. An odd sensation fell over him as he realised that despite being trapped in a burning building, he was now almost completely free.

He was going to die, but that was OK. After all he had started the fire in the first place, he supposed that this was fitting punishment. And even if he got out, then what? He would be held trial for his actions, court-martialled, jailed or more. Even if none of that came to pass, his life was nothing to go back to. A shitty flat, no girl, no money, no life. At least Derric and his gang would be paid off, its what the two men in dark coats had told him. They promised if he did this one thing, he would be free of the debt, and then maybe, just maybe he could start over again. But then that was all a dream that would never come to pass, and so this was his alternative.

 _Stupid_ he thought, _life is never that easy_.

The dark smoke filtered into the corridor and caused his eyes to sting and darkening any light. His breathing began to rasp but he welcomed the black to fill his lungs, his thoughts beging to slip.

"I'm sorry mom, dad, Lucy. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. I'm sorry I couldn't fix any of this." He croaked, tears wetting his knees.

He felt his body lean more heavily into the table, trying to force himself to relax and allow memories of a more pleasant time to overtake him. The sounds of the crackling fire dissolved into the crackling of popcorn and cotton candy, children were screaming in joy as the rollercoaster flew then through the carnival sky. His throat was sore for all the sugar he had eaten and his eye stung for the bright lights of the Ferris wheel.

Jake smiled, allowing himself to fall into the memory, thinking that maybe if he thought about it hard enough it might become real. _I deserve this_ he thought, _I deserve peace_ The sound of fire engines too far away in the distance.


	2. Case file 001

_A/N Hello there! So this is my First published fanfic, it's a little daunting, but hopefully you guys will like it. The Songs of yesterday were originally suppose to sit as 'past memory' chapters within the main Fallout 4 fanfic that follows this one (hence the super creative chapter names). However when this one started ballooning into more than 8 chapters, I segregated it and it became its own little story. So there isn't much reference to characters you might know and love, but I have tried to keep as much in the lore of the Fallout series as possible. If you are wanting more cannon fanfic, the story that this was originally embedded in/follows this one will be published eventually. It's all on one word doc that is added to as I get ideas, so its written a little hoch poch. I enjoyed writing this little mystery, though not normally the thing I end up writing, in fact this is my first mystery write! All the firsts in one!_

 _So comment, or not, I hope you enjoy it and can you work out what's going on? Because good god, half the time I was holding so many strings with this I wasn't sure what was going on._

.

Wafts of the greasy hot food filled the small room, relief from the harsh late winter winds that heralded the beginning of 2077. Crammed in between precarious file cases and mismatching furniture the small team of 9 that made up the 7th battalion CID, Boston division sat around sharing breakfast. Bitter Slocums Joe coffee that had too much sugar added to it joined bacon sandwiches and fresh doughnuts on the heavy duty table. Sharp light filtered through the slatted window, casting lines in the thick air of vapour and cigarette smoke.

"You wouldn't believe how much they're charging for doughnuts these days- ten dollars. TEN dollars! For a pack of twelve!" Issac Parkway complained from his corner, waving an offending confectionary in the air to punctuate his point.

"It's inflation, it's going to get out of hand soon. Resources are getting thin on the ground, and we're the ones paying for it." Richard said between mouthfuls of bacon sandwich, mustard coating the older man's moustache while his glasses steamed up.

Sanjay looked to them "Look at Russia and China, both land grabbing parts of Africa and Asia. At least the worst America has done so far is annexe Canada. It could be worse you know."

"Could be better too." Issac huffed.

"Our government is just quieter about what they get up to. Then again so is China's government. Do we really know what they're up to? They said Premier Zhou has been commissioning new Chinese stealth technology to put onto ships and…" Richard added but was quickly interrupted.

"Guys it's really too early for all this politics." Anita moaned from her corner next to Isaac. Evelyn noticed that under the usually immaculate black fringe she had dark circles and a languid look. The secretary and youngest member of the team had clearly still not learnt that going out partying on a Sunday night was a bad idea.

Richard had clearly taken little notice of her remark and had carried on talking about the Chinese's advance tactical unit plans that he'd read in the Boston Bugle. Will and Sanjay had drawn into the conversation and started making comments about what they had heard, Sanjay relaying stories about his home, back in newly expanded India, now know as 'Mid-Asia'. A huge jump in steel export prices had caused an economic boom for the top level of society, while gangs stole people in the night from working in factories, keeping up with demand. The new Indo Mid-Asian government was trying to keep open exports to America, China, Russia and the European Union. An awaiting disaster for the country that tried to play all sides of the board.

"Not enough room in the brain amongst the alcohol to handle this?" Isaac joked to Anita quietly in the corner while patting her condescendingly on the head. A swift punch to the arm was all her reaction before sinking lower into her chair, looking like she was about to doze off. Others of the team, including Evelyn, were too busy eating or in too much of a Monday morning feeling to otherwise engage. The morning's parade in the cool damp wind had put a dulled any positive feeling and Evelyn felt too sick to really socialise much.

"What's really interesting is.." Richard started before the door mercifully swung open as Commission Officer Daniel Jenkins strode in, swirls of smoke left in his wake.

"G'morning team." he said, getting a near unified response back from them. He continued by working around the table asking individuals or assigned groups how they were coming on with their current investigations. Richard and Peter were investigating missing supplies, Will and Greg were working on drug use on a base up in New Hampshire, Isaac on a vehicles damages on a Western Massachusetts base and Sanjay and Mark left with theft, thought it was being to look like weapons smuggling. When he came to Evelyn she had nothing to report, her last case with Will finishing just last week. She had filled in the intervening time with a backlog of paper work that desperately needed doing, or threatened to drown the office under a physical avalanche of paper. The Commission Officer produced a file from under his arm. "Here's your new case" he said handing it to her. Reading the title she couldn't help a small smile creep into the corner of her mouth. She laid the file down on the table, knowing that the 7th battalion CID had few secrets and would want to know her case. The predictable creak of chairs as they leaned forwards to read the cover.

 _Case file 01284, 7_ _th_ _battalion US Army Criminal Investigation Command (CID),Boston Detachment MA._

 _Arson attack with associated Homicide at Fort Devens, Boston, MA. February 9th 2077_

"A murder case, can I join you on that one Eve?" she heard Greg say from across the table. Mark made eye contact with her, likely wanting to ask a similar question.

"Oh the one at Fort Devens, I heard about that on the radio the other day…" Richard began. Sensing him about to launch into yet another rambling conversation, something he was more than well known for, the Commission Officer interjected.

"Its not that much to get into. It's a bit of an open shut case. The main suspect was found at the scene and is awaiting questioning. You should be able to get that one done before Easter. Make sure the evidence is sound and all. You know the drill." Evelyn nodded her understanding. Quiet professionalism on the outside hid her internal dancing. As grim as murder cases were, and with thankful rarity, they were a heck of a lot more interesting than the code of conduct paperwork that had plagued her last eight working days. Evelyn Green was considered one of the best in the team, something she was proud of, and this was her reward.

"Agent Parkway, once you have finished your business with that vehicle damages, help Agent Green with this one." The Commission Officer said as he excused himself after acquiring one of the remaining doughnuts much to Isaac's gestured protests and left them to finish breakfast before another day's work.

It was past nine o'clock by the time Evelyn sat down with the file at her desk, grabbing a pencil and slurping the last of the coffee, now cold and laden thick with sugar granules. It was not long before she started leaving pencil scribbles all over the file, opening her trains of thought as she read through the main points;

Staff Sergeant Jake Timpey of the 213th US army division, based at Fort Devens, had been found at the scene of the burning artillery depot of the same base. He had got locked into one of the side corridors unable to escape. He had been admitted to hospital under guard, and was now being held at a local police station awaiting questioning. It had been quickly established that it had been him that started the fire. His car found on base containing canisters of fuel and in the glove box a map of the base's layout, marking a small room where the fire had originated. The fire had spread throughout the depot and 3 of the night staff, janitors on their break, had been burnt to death. The evidence was fairly conclusive. The only thing really missing was the motive for it all. S Sgt. Timpey had little history of these tendencies to his nature, though his personnel file did note that he had been fighting on the Alaskan front and was suffering some mental trauma because of it. The officer whose notes she read made it clear that they thought the motive was the trauma and drinking. Timpey had been at a bar beforehand in the North Boston area, seemingly there for a good number of hours. If he wasn't in the clink for arson and murder already, he should probably be there for drink driving. Evidence recovered from the site included the above items and the impounded car, some half-burnt files, a key card with an unknown owner and a holotape which went loaded simply had had a string of numbers typed on it. Anything else had burnt in the fire. The bodies of the Janitors where in the morgue to confirm identity. Like Daniel had said, this was a pretty open and shut case. However something was bothering her.

 _Why did he have a map for a base that he was stationed at?_

"I don't know, but you know we normal soldiers don't get to see all the base right? We're only allowed around certain parts or just have no reason to go there" Nate said as he moved around the kitchen putting together a mish-mash sandwich containing the remains of Sunday's roast. Evelyn had posed the question to him when she had got back home and dropped into the soft red sofa. It still smelt new, a smell that made her feel a little sick.

"or just no reason to go there…" she repeated half to herself. That was another point that had bothered her. Why go to that room to start a fire? A small side office. Sure it was next to the Artillery depot, so the place would go up with a bang and take out the whole base. Thankfully the fire had gone south of the building due to a strong prevailing wind and the artillery had remained inactive. But if destroying the base was the point then surely the fire would have been started in the Depot, not to the side. If Timpey had simply wanted to set something on fire then he wouldn't have gone to the effort of sneaking that far onto base. It was something about that office…

"An artillery depot would have higher security than the rest of the base, and would be guarded at all times, either by men or robots and automated defences. An office would be a lot easier to reach" Nate said when she had spoken out loud.

"True, but that office, it just seems odd - and the map...Argh" she groaned, running fingers through her hair, pushing the heel of her palms into her eye sockets. The nausea was not helping her think.

The sofa compressed behind her and she felt warm hands rub the base of her neck, letting out a contented hum as Nate worked along her shoulders. "You're allowed to put work down and relax you know." He said pressing on a knot he had found in her muscles.

"I am relaxed, just wish I would stop feeling so ill!"

"Still feeling bad?" He asked in a concerned voice, and rather regrettably then left her massage to go to the kitchen again. Evelyn had been sick for most of the weekend and had concluded it was the seafood they had eaten a few nights back when Nate had taken her on a surprise date. He set to pouring her a glass of warm water while fetching himself a beer. Water, beer and sandwich in balanced hands he sat next to her on the sofa and they snuggled up, a large arm wrapping around her and her head resting on his chest, the TV playing in front of them.

Subconsciously she had let out a small groan seeing the beer in his hand. Nate followed her gaze to see what the issue was and quickly picked up on the offending item.

"It's only one, and I'm eating with it." his words a little defensive.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel-"

"It's okay" He said, putting the bottle down, now almost ashamed of it. The arm around her waist tightened and she brought herself up to kiss him as an apology. If she was a better wife, she might have told him he didn't need to drink, or would have found an alternative solution. Instead Nate for some reason stayed with her, and all she found herself doing was allow the habit to continue. He suffered from the memories on the front, and she allowed this 'medication' as long as it was in moderation. She knew how much he would drink in the quiet times he though she didn't notice. She would never say anything and their marriage would carry on. They settled back and watched the TV, the broadcaster talking about Premier Zhou and his Chinese stealth technology.


	3. Case file 002

It felt like it had taken all morning to edge across the city to the South Boston Police Department. The traffic was in gridlock, due to a protest outside of city hall against the third tax rise over the past 18 months. Evelyn cursed, tapping the wheel of her car impatiently as she glanced at the time once again. This morning she had timed her busy day perfectly. She had arrived for another morning parade, then saw the doctor about her continuing sickness and after had joined the others for their ritual breakfast before spending an hour going over case notes. She was then to watch Jake Timpey's interrogation and then go to the mourge before returning to base for afternoon drills. It had all been timed perfectly. Now, thanks to the protest, she was late, which frustrated her immensely. Goodness knows why it was South Boston that they had decided to bring S. Sgt Timpey, but here, awaiting interrogation he was.

Finally arriving at the South Boston police station, Evelyn rushed in through the front doors hoping they had not already started the interview process. She was met by the police Sargent in charge of the interrogation who greeted her warmly. The Boston CID and local police worked together surprisingly often despite the differences in their chains of command. There was a comradery found in the fact that they operated to keep the same city safe, though each considered the other with some friendly rivalry. He gave her hand a vice like shake and welcomed her in. She mumbled a greeting back, hoping he wouldn't notice that she had forgotten his name, and began walking to the interrogation room.

"So just you today?" he asked as he led their way through the maze of corridors and stairs.

"This time, yes." she said trying to keep up with his fast walking pace.

Normally a case like this would have at least two working on it. Any evidence reviews she did would still have to be done in the presence of others, but after a reshuffle in the CID's organisation over the past few months, she found herself working this case alone. The war was becoming very costly, and the public was becoming increasing aware at how spiralling military costs along with dwindling resources were bankrupting the country in the form of rampant inflation and tax hikes. So, in an effort to rein in costs, 'superfluous' divisions as Senator Hollen had called the CID, were being cut back. This resulted in Evelyn's battalions workload increasing almost exponentially despite their team swelling from 6 to 10 after taking on some of those from made redundant at other CID battalions. The result was that Commission Officer Daniel Jenkins had made agreements with the local police authority, using their interrogators as well as their pathologist and Mourge in return for a small fee. The Commission Officer had complained about how ineffectual the long term monetary value of this was, but had been ignored by the central CID. "You'd think being so close to Virginia they would stop for-getting we exist." Daniel had complained. So with a team stretched thin Evelyn found herself solo until Agent Isaac Parkway was due to join her.

She and the police sergeant arrived at the viewing window. Inside was a man with a gaunt face and flat black hair burnt in a few locations, sat opposite the two officers conducting the interview. Evelyn loaded her holotape into the panel below the window to record the conversation. The sergeant had poked his head around the door to indicate that the interview could start. One of the interviews breathed 'Finally' to which Evelyn felt a sting on annoyance. _So far today's going brilliantly_ the sarcastic voice in her head complained.

The formalities of the interview took place, asking name, rank, address and DOB to establish identity before reading the charges of arson and manslaughter he was being held for. "Do you deny these charges?"

The gaunt man that identified himself as S. Sgt Jake Timpey gave a glance over to the one-way glass of the viewing panel before returning to look at the interrogators. Though his words carried little emotion, there was a reserved pragmatism, almost deliberate wording, in everything he said. It felt almost like they were rehearsed answers.

"No, I was the one to start the fire."

"Are you confessing to starting the fire at Fort Devens?"

"Yes, I am"

The two integrators looked at each other. Despite the evidence being fairly conclusive against him, those who confessed to crimes so easily were usually lying. "Alright then Staff Sargent Timpey, why did you start the fire?"

"Because… I don't agree with this war."

"And you think burning down military depot would stop it?"

"It's a start." Timpey levelled his look at the two interrogators. Though he was not a physically imposing man he had a look to him that talked of military discipline, of order and defiance. He was a man not used to being questioned and he was daring them to try again.

"How did you start the fire?" The older interrogator continued, undeterred by the cold look.

"I set alight to some files in Sargent Major West's office and up it went."

"What files?"

"I don't know, just some files. Im not going to bring my own paper when Sargent Major West is swamped in paperwork. He'll probably thank me for removing some for him." Jake seemed to answer the questions too quickly, with too much confidence. He answered with the dry humour, reaffirmation in what he was saying, an attempted to redirect the interviewers from digging too much. He was guilty and admitting to it, but Evelyn couldn't help but feel there was more to this.

"Why did you start the fire in Sargent Major West's office?" The older interrogator asked.

"I didn't really want to be in the ammo room when it all kicked off." Timpey replied, notes of sarcasm in his otherwise indifferent voice.

The older interrogator leant forwards, resting locked hands on the table. "We are aware you and Sargent Major West had a fight not long before the fire. Could you tell us about that?"

Timpey shifted in his chair a little, clearly he had not expected such information to have been known about. It took a minute to compose himself. "It was about two weeks back. West was having it out for Private Adams. Adams isn't the smartest guy and he's clumsy and forgetful.." A small smile pulled at Timpey's lips as he talked "… but he's nice and he tries his hardest, not a half bad marksman either when he wants to be. I was fed up of West always laying into Adams, usually on parade as well, humiliating him in front of everyone for even minor offences. So, one morning he arrives for parade and West is at him for some petty reason, think Adams had left the light on in the hallway overnight or something. I just lost it, shouted back at West to cut him a break. Me and West talked it out later, as you can imagine he wasn't happy, but he hasn't been hard on- well any harder on Adams than he is on everyone else, since."

"So this wouldn't be revenge?" The younger interrogator said, tapping his pen lightly against his note pad.

"No, like I said West left him alone and everything's been fine for the last few weeks. I started the fire because I don't agree with the war against China."

The older integrator rested his head on steepled fingers, watching carefully how Timpey would react. "As a Staff Sergeant, you would be aware then that Sergeant Major West had signed orders to transfer Private Adams to Fort Strong."

"What?" Timpey for the first time during the interview seemed to show genuine emotion, disbelief. "When did he-"

"Not long after this altercation between you two from what we understand." The waves of shock rippled over Timpeys face and the interrogator continued "So you can see why we are thinking that this 'against the war' moto isn't really all there is to this."

"Where were you before the fire?" the younger integrator asked, changing tact.

"I was out."

"Out where?"

"Out."

"Look Staff Sargent Timpey, we have our records on you." The older interrogator lay a wad of papers on the table, flicking through them to a table. "Drunk and disorderly behaviour on one, two, three…..six occasions in the East Boston area around the factory district." The older interrogator looked up at Timpey. "Receipts found on you say that you were at a bar the night of the fire. We're you drunk?"

"NO!" Timpey became defensive, clearly, they had hit a nerve. The interrogator took the weakness and pushed.

"Come on Staff Sargent, a man with your background at a bar and not getting drunk? This receipt is for five drinks" The younger interrogator snarked.

"I… it was only one drink-" Timpey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Eyes again wandering, repeating his look to the one-way glass. "-maybe five". There were emotions struggling to find themselves, shifting, reshaping and being masked over and over, reminiscent of the answers he gave.

"and then what happened?"

"I drank at the bar and then I burnt- attempted to burn the artillery depot at Fort Devens."

"Why would you want to burn down the place you work?" The older interrogator asked. Timpey looked down at the table, eyes glazing over and starting to recede back in his mind. "Staff Sargent, help us understand what's going on. What's going on in your head?"

Timpey looked again at the one-way glass. It seemed like he was expecting someone to be there watching him. "If I hadn't have left…"

"Left?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Staff Sargent Jake Timpey…" The older interrogator began, the weight of his words filling the void of the room "…three men are dead, Fort Devens is at a high-security risk. As a soldier, you took an oath to protect this country and its people. You have done neither in this action. You are a smart man, but clearly a troubled one. Help us to understand what is going on in your head."

"look I'm just… I'm angry, stressed. I don't know" Timpey pulled his hand through his hair, nail scraping his scalp.

"Is this about Alaska-"

"Do you have any idea what it's like?!" Timpeys fist met the table with a sharp thud, silence fell on the room as the pain radiated from Timpey's fist. He dragged his eyes up from the table, fury burning. "Do you know what it is like to loose the people you care about. Loose the people you love. Loose them to such a pointless war. The government does care; about you, me, anyone, as long as we play along in their game it doesn't matter how many of them they throw at this war. They don't listen, just use us. There is no price too high. Do you know what it's like to hold one of your best friends in you arms as they die and your so helpless to stop the bleeding? I tried... I tried to stop the blood, but it just kept flowing. He just died so pointlessly, away from home and in the cold.

I didn't want anyone else to suffer that.

So yes, I blew up the artillery depot. I don't know how it would stop the war, but I couldn't stand the sight of it. To see thousands of lives being snuffed out by each one of those god forsaken machines that sat in our depot. I didn't want what happened to... what happened…my friends. Not even to the Chinese. No one deserves that. There was no forgiveness in any of it. I never meant to kill the three janitors, only to destroy those weapons. Only to end the suffering. It was easier to die than face that all again"

* * *

"He's being recommended for physiatric treatment. There's a prison down South that specialises in mental patients." The Police sergeant told her as she waited for him to return from leading Timpey back to his cell. "The boys clearly seen stuff out there and just repressed it all. Guess he just saw the bombs in the depot one day and it triggered the feelings. Just snaps and sets fire to the place. "

"It sounds like it" Evelyn murmured, the commission officer was right, this was pretty much an open and shut case. After Timpeys outburst they had decided to halt the interview until he had calmed again. It gave Evelyn enough evidence to find and prove what he said was the truth. But there was still something nagging her about this whole case. If this had been a crime of a mind that had snapped then why was there a map which denoted a premeditated attack? There was just something not lining up.

The Sergeant offered to walk her back to the entrance, Evelyn no doubt would get somewhat lost in the myriad of corridors. She checked the time to make sure she wasn't late for her next appointment with the Mourge. She was currently running right on time, but if the traffic was grid lock again... A heavy sigh was resting in her lungs.

Around her the station had become almost eerily quite, the few officers that they passed did so in a hurry. Listening into their conversation she could hear them talk about the protest at city hall getting worse.

Finally making it out the warren of doors, she made it to the front desk and began filling in a signing out sheet and collected a locked briefcase full of evidence, the code for the combination lock on it already forwarded to the Commission Officer. While she stood writing her information the police sergeant rummaged in this pockets before holding out his hand. She opened her's a little in confusion and he dropped a small pin into it. It was badly damaged, the wing of the bird half snapped off while other bits were bent out of shape. Only some of the original coloured enamel was left on. An eagle upon a Roman helmet with a star in the centre.

"One of your boys came around here yesterday, he must have dropped this, think one of my men found it in the car park, hence the damage."

"Who was it?" Evelyn asked in confusion, wondering who else had come here.

"Don't know his name, tall guy with short-cropped brown hair, looked about 40-ish"

Maybe Mark Evelyn thought, after all he and Sanjay were working on a theft case which could involve the local police. She briefly looked over the signing sheet she had been filling in, but failed to see his name on it.

The clock behind the desk chimed and Evelyn was suddenly aware of the time again. She thanks the police sergeant and bided him good day before leaving, pocketing the pin in her black jacket and stuffing briefcase under her arms. She hopped back into her car and drove the arduous drive back through the diverted traffic around Boston.

* * *

"Oh shit" Evelyn exclaimed as she got out of her car having finally navigated back around the Boston traffic. The diversion had caused her to drive a good way out of town before being allowed anywhere close to Kendall. Temper already frayed she had open her door in a hurry and had dented the expensive looking dark blue Chryslus Cavalier next to her. The red paint of her cheap priced Chryslus Coupe was left of the Cavalier's body and she quickly spot cleaned it, hoping the owner wouldn't see it. The sarcastic voice returned _Today was still going brilliantly._

Doing as much as she could to cover up the dent, she hurried into the Mourge for her next appointment.

The building was not a particularly special looking one, having more a resemblance to a factory than a place of a Forensic and pathology department, but as so it attracted less attention to it's inner workings. Being just down from Kendal hospital it had a regular supply of incoming work, and students from the University medical department would come up and watch the work going on (mostly) non-crime related autopsies from specialised open labs. Security had been ramped up, due to a few incidents of parts going missing and turning up in unexcepted places. The most recent was a severed hand turning up in a post box of a local politician, the limb holding tickets to a well know comedian with anti-political messages. A medical student's twisted sense of humour. Today one of these student session was clearly going on, as a mill of students took up most of the entrance hall, Evelyn trying to squeeze past them to her appointment.

The coroner gave her an unimpressed look as she entered the room, three burnt bodies laying on three metal tables in the centre.

"I'm so sorry..." Evelyn began, fumbling for her glasses and note pad in her bag, but the greying coroner held up his hand to silence her.

"I am aware of the University students and the appalling traffic in town. Protest against the latest tax rise and all. Tsk, Americans back in my day didn't riot like this, we did things in the proper manner. Anyway, all the waiting gave me time for lunch. Now on to our three here." He said picking up a pair of forceps and handing her a face mask while pulling up his own. Even with the mask on and the near frozen state of the bodies, the smell of the burnt flesh was still powerful. "So it will come as no surprise that the cause of death for all three was asphyxiation, followed by server universal thermal injuries. As you can see the bodies are fairly damaged, so not much to outwardly identify them, but the three janitors who all signed in that night are all missing. Their bodies were found in the room the janitors were known to take their breaks and the three of them fit the build, dental profiles, and mostly ages that we know for the three men."

"Mostly?"

"One of them, this one, a Mr Alan Smith according to our records was 45, though the bones say the is more in his mid to late 30's."

"Pretending to be older than he was?"

"Looking older than you are is usually a sign of high levels of stress for a long period of time. Though not sure why he'd go as far as to change his official age to cover up a few wrinkles. He's not the only one, this one, a Mr Rick Jones has a number of injuries that are quite recent on him. Fracture to the upper right mandible and ramus, deep bruising around the sternum and some in the lower torso. The healing process makes the injuries sustained within the last month."

"A fight?"

"My thoughts, the bruising is very neatly concentrated. The attacker hit only a few times, but very hard to disable him."

"Yet he still came into work?"

"That's your side to investigate, not mine. I just tell you what the bodies tell me. Other than those points there's not much more to say."

She thanked the pathologist and left with the reports and x rays of the three bodies in yet another locked briefcase. The bodies were sealed back up into their cold boxes, nothing more than burnt meat on a tray, a tag on their toes to mark that they were ever anyone at all.

She headed back down the corridor and passed one of the circular open lab were the students had gathered. A few older members, probably teacher were also present. The man in the centre was poking around at a dead Chinese man's opened torso and explaining to the audience what he saw while a camera projected the view above to give everyone a clear view.

" .. coupled with the grey-blue colouring and the constriction in the blood vessels in most of the lower epidermal layers throughout the body, this shows this man's blood temperature had dropped significantly before death and was undergoing respiratory depression. So, along with the vomiting, we talked about earlier, it adds to the hypothesis that this suicide was caused by an overdose via as yet an unknown substance. However, if we now go onto the liver, it's got this yellow discolouration associated with hepatic steatosis, caused by drinking too much alcohol.…" Out of curiosity, Evelyn had stepped into the back of the auditorium to watch to lecture, however, had quickly left after feeling queasy at the sight of raw bloody tissue. The continuing nausea from the last week wasn't helping her mental coping capacity, and so as quietly as she had entered, she exited, holding her breath to stop her from throwing up.

Gulping cool fresh air into her lungs, she made it out of the building and onto the street and leant against the wall, head stretching back to praise the clear blue sky. Resting on the matters the day had thrown up, she found herself only holding more loose ends that she had started with this morning. Sorting through the mental junk until she found herself grounded in the reality of Kendall streets. She checked the time on her wristwatch and saw she was already missing afternoon drills. The Commission Officer's voice was already berating her. She paced back in her car, once again checking the dark blue Cavalier for the dent she had left, and readied herself for the long diverted drive back to base.

* * *

Someone with any knowledge of Boston highways was clearly off in the traffic department, the roads that she had taken to get the Kendal were now closed, while other more confusing diversionary routes where signposted. Curiously the signs now lead near central Boston, skirting the city hall area. Ony the core peaceful of the protest remained in the square, homemade banners in hand calling for a stop to tax rises and the squeeze of the blue collar man. Leaflets fluttered about the square and out into the city, voices flying away in the wind. Some of the people shouted their message at passing vehicles. Evelyn did not lower her window to hear what they had to say. She knew it would scare her, and like so many she didn't want to face how raw the reality was.

Listening to the radio, it became clear that the majority of the protest had now broken out into a mobile riot. The earlier police presence had agitated the crowd, overzealous police and wound up protesters had clashed, spilling blood and anger. The radio reported that the riot was becoming more violent as people tried to make more of a mark the harder the police tried to stop them. The ever-present blue sirens of the emergency services calling out in the distance. The high-end shops of the waterfront, where she would stroll peacefully and muse at dresses she could never afford, was now the scene of a battlefront. A fast morphing angry mob smashed windows, graffiti scrawled across high-end brands, burning of the president's picture. Reports of many small violent incidents. Many ordinary people fed up of not being listened. Fear and anger drove normal Boston citizens to commit crime on an ever escalating scale. Evelyn turned the radio off, and hummed a tune to take her mind off how her chest had constricted.

She would later come back home and find Nate sitting in the bedroom, nursing a bloody nose and heavy bruising around his eye. He had been elbowed in the face when the crowd had swarmed at Trinity Plaza, thought by friend or foe, it didn't matter. The crowd of near a thousand had rallied there but no sacrificial figurehead came to address the crowd, no answers were given, nowhere to direct the volatile energy that would not fizzle out. All there was was the wall of police.

In the end it didn't really matter who lit the match, who threw the first punch, or when the first insult was traded, but when it happened the plaza turned in a matter of minutes into violent chaos. Nate saw as police threw debilitating punched over their plastic shield wall, cracking noses and teeth. Blood on their fists. Normal citizens abandoned any social filter, engulfed and swarmed police who defended desperately, a pack of dog viciously laying into those sworn to protect them. Brawls in the dirt, crushing bones and air and light. Gunshots, people crippling and fall on both sides but neither side backing down. Nate saw red.

He had not got into trouble, but a number of his friends had been dragged by police into vans when the crowd had been dispersed with water cannons and smoke grenades. Nate admitted to helping overthrow one of the police cars to block the road, encouraging the setting a light of the vehicle. He was ashamed to admit it, as Evelyn dabbed his eye with a salve, neither condemning or approving of his actions only listening. Nate said he didn't know what had come over him, but at the time it had felt right, the feeling of the crowd had swept him up, egged him on. Together it felt like they were doing something against powers out of their control. It had felt like the only way to be heard while the facade of the American dream crumbled to dust around them. The war that had deeply broken him, and for years he had cautiously spent time picking up the pieces and sticking himself back together, even though he knew it was a fragile existence. He had been able to do it because the war had been away, far away in another place and time that he no longer knew. But now the war sat looming outside the front door, threatened to break him again, break his family, break the world. He would never admit it, but he was afraid. But in the end, as he shouted raw in the crowd, he knew he was just another unheard voice.

* * *

a/n. So I know this is quite a talky chapter but hopefully you enjoyed it.

I am aware I am messing around with what the real CID do and how they conduct/ interact with the local law, messing around with their size and all. I am aware battalions and the general CID being much bigger, but I'm blaming cut back to the budget, and maybe someone not wanting the armies self-regulation to get in the way. Anyway FO happens in an alternate universe so maybe things turn out a little different that they do in ours. That my line anyway and I'm sticking to it! However any comments on how real CID work would be good to know, I found researching them a little difficult (for obvious reasons) and also have no idea now American police and military operate as a whole.! Do the American police have riot shields for instance? Most of the footage we get here shows them behind cars, but I cant see why they wouldn't have riot shields thier useful things.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, not sure how I feel about it and may one day re-rewrite it, but it works for now.


	4. Report 001 Crossword

Agent Gorman sat in a window seat of the corner café on the street across from the Kendell's Morgue. He clung tight to his cup of coffee, the warm heat from the cup radiating into his stiff fingers and the Boston Bugle newspaper crossword in front of him. It tasted awful, the beans had been burnt and it was a weak flavored sorry excuse for an Americano. Everything in this miserable city was wrong, even the coffee. The Motel had been something to write home about, though for many of the wrong reasons. Someone had attempted to kill a few roaches in their apartment before they had arrived, but had failed to remove their many squashed remains. Who only half did a job? But it was the persisting cold that did it for Agent Gorman. Clearly, 'springtime' meant little here, and the biting late winter cold seemed to permeate into every corner he tried to settle in. He could feel a growing flu-like soreness at the back of his throat but distracted himself with the crossword. He had no time to be ill.

 _No. 6 Down. Millitary munitions equipment (9) ARMAMENTS_

 _No. 6 Across. Dedication (12). . . . . . . . A . . ._

What topped it off for him was his partner Agent Jackson seemed to love Boston. He had brushed away the roach carcases, saying that most motels had them. He said that the coffee was just as bad at home, it just wasn't noticed because it was the Virginia brand of bad coffee and that they would get used to it while working here. He said he felt invigorated by the cool crisp air and that in winter the snow and lights made the street look like a picture postcard. That it was a shame they had just missed Christmas.

Gorman snorted into a tissue, no to him the cold was a (un)necessary evil of the world. It was brutal and unforgiving and his beloved car was having issues starting up in the weather. He must remember to buy a more viscous antifreeze.

He couldn't wait for this job to be over. Command Chief Warrant Officer Ellis had hinted that after this job, Gorman would be reassigned following his request to be posted back out to California. Oh, wonderful California, with it's sun and its warm beaches and beautiful girls. The wildflowers in the fields around Mariposa would be in flower when he got there. He could drink sweet fresh orange juice or lemonade and munch local almonds on the job instead of huddling in a dingy cafe in some backwater nowhere with coffee that tasted like floor sweepings. Jackson would no doubt start complaining about sunburn, but he would survive.

 _No. 5 Down. Person banished (5) EXILE_

 _No. 6 Across. Dedication (12). . . . . . E . A . . ._

"It's for personal interest as well as professional." Jackson had said as they left the motel this morning.

"I know we need to check on what the find but I don't get your personal interest." Gorman grumbled as they walked along the street, shrugging his head deeper inside his collar away from a cold breeze.

"You don't find it interesting, all the guts and blood that keep us working?"

"I know as much as I need to. I don't need to go watch some old guy with a scalpel poke about stomach contents." Gorman said bitterly, it was a part of the job be was never particularly fond of.

"Aww well, your loss I suppose. It'd be harder to get two of us in there anyway." Jackson patted at his pocket for the fake ID's he'd created.

"I will go and check on our contact while you're in there."

"I'll see ya around 14:30 then." Jackson nodded to him and began walking in the direction of the metro that would take him to Kendell Morgue. Gorman walked to his car and drove it towards South Boston, the traffic thick from the protest at city hall. Even the residents of this city seemed miserable. He had met his contact and retrieved the holotape recording of Jake Timpeys interview before making it towards Kendell.

Gorman found himself tapping irritably at his cup, he had made it back to the agreed location on time and had made himself relatively comfortable in the corner cafe across from the morgue. That had been two hours ago and Gorman had had to buy himself more coffee's and buns than he really wanted to in order to keep the cafe from throwing him out. Waiting for his colleague was becoming somewhat tedious.

 _No. 4 Down. Fail to catch or accidentally disclose (3,4) LETDROP_

 _No. 6 Across. Dedication (12). . . . E . E . A . . ._

Jackson had decided to go and watch the autopsy being held in the morgue as well as retrieve a copy of the report on the dead janitors from Fort Denver. It had been, by some stroke of luck, a day when the university student were present to watch the medical proceeding. Jackson had filtered into the crowd somewhat seamlessly, formal wear a slick back haircut giving him the casual professional look. To the police, he simply appeared as another lecturer guiding the students into the viewing theater and to the students, he appeared as a uniformed police directing them to their seats. His confidence, quick thinking and charming personality meant that Jackson was one of the few people in the 706th Battalion who had almost seamlessly infiltration abilities amongst crowds. Sure Gorman was skilled at getting to a location in complete secrecy, intimidating those who would question him or simply give them the slip, but Jackson could convince even the most devout priest that he was the holy Pope himself and have them kiss his shoes. The riot in town had meant that Jackson had not needed to flex these undercover skills. There had been few security checks with so few personnel on the ground, though he kept the fake ID's close at hand. So with very little effort, Agent Jackson was amongst the crowd watching the autopsy.

 _No. 3 Down. A new world vision heartless Premier Zhao aims to burst (10) UTOPIANISM_

 _No. 6 Across. Dedication (12) P . . . E . E . A . . ._

"You had one job." Gorman grumbled into the weak coffee. There were only so many more cups he could buy, some many times he could look at this dam crossword, before he stormed the mourge to find Agent Jackson and get back to the Motel were at least there were the small comforts of home packed in his suitcase. He was not unused to Jackson having a bad sense of timekeeping, but even by his standards, this was late. Gorman considered wheater something might have gone wrong, that his partner was in danger. But there was no way to contact him without potentiality blowing any cover or leads he might have found. Gorman had tapped into the local police chatter and was listening through one earphone that concealed nicely around his jacket's collar, however, no one had mentioned anything about an intruder so Gorman assumed his partner's safety. The two Agents had agreed on a three-hour overlap before they considered the other in danger, and he was still under that time lapse.

Gorman took another regretful sip of coffee, still watching to the entrance to the mourge.

After a while, something did catch his attention. A woman with white-blonde hair had stumbled out of the mourge. She lent back against the wall of the building, seeming to be taking deep breaths. Clearly, she was not one for dead bodies either. Gorman couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face, a hunter watching his prey.

The uniform she was wearing was indicated that she was not one of the morgue's team, nor was she part of the University. He knew that uniform well, before being promoted to the 706's he had worn a similar uniform in a different CID Battalion. He looked around the mostly deserted cafe, people too involved in their own lives reading newspapers, taking with their back to him, the waitress mopping up a spill around back. He didn't need to create a distraction. Bringing a set of small binoculars up to his eyes her could on the woman's jacket breast was a logo of a Bears head atop red and white stripes. The white star that denoted any CID unit on the Bears forehead.

 _No. 7 Down. To take into one's possession or control by force. (7) CAPTURE_

 _No. 6 Across. Dedication (12) P . . . E . E . A . C ._

"So you're the one from the 7th Battalion" He murmured watching as she took a few more breaths and readjusted her glasses before making it to her small red car that was ironically parked next to his. She appeared to be doing something though he could tell what from the angel, before she finally drove off. He starting making a few notes on her and the car, though for the moment his interest in her was passing.

She was simply doing her job as any self-respecting member of the military police should. Any direct interference from them would cause suspicion. From the recording, the older interrogator had given him earlier it soundly like Timpey had given a reasonably convincing explanation for his actions. By logic, this woman should come to the simple conclusion that Timpey was guilty and that would be that.

About half an hour after he had spotted the woman, and nearing the three-hour mark, Agent Jackson finally appeared, wandering casually down the steps of the morgue. Gorman nearly lept up so fast that the coffee jumped out of the mug and spilt on the window table. He made a vague call to the waitress who, with a lack of customers, had disappeared out back to talk with the chef. He dropped a few coins and left in a hurry to catch Jackson.

Jackson had spotted Gorman's car in the small carpark outside the morgue and was leaning heavily against the Chryslus Chavalier's body, lighting a cigarette in hand. Gorman gave his colleague a dark look. Jackson stood up straight, knowing the look was more likely to do with the disrespect he appeared to be giving the car more than the length of time he had left Gorman waiting. He really needed to get Gorman laid, there was a red light district in town.

"So was the autopsy interesting?" Gorman started while he unlocked the car. Words cut with annoyance.

Jackson ignored the tone "Very much so. Learnt a lot about the liver. Everything's in order though. How was your day?" he said getting into the car and settling in. He looked over to Gorman who still stood outside the door "everything alright?"

"Bitch" Gorman spat, his fingers running over a dent in the door of his beloved car, small flecks or red paint still marking it. Now the woman had his interest.

 _No. 6 Across. Dedication (12) PERSEVERANCE_

* * *

 _A/n . Hello again, a sort of quickish update, the formatting on FF is slightly annoying hence the needing to dot the underlining for the crossword puzzle. So did you get the crossword before the end?_

 _So some new people, the plot thickens like over cooked custard. I say with a bowl of the very stuff powering me at 2am in the morning while writing this. Why am I up at 2am? I dont rightly know, but here I am._

 _Hope you enjoy it and leave a comment if you feel so inclined, I will leave a metaphorical cookie for you under your pillow if you do (reverse tooth fairy?)._


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